


Shut Up and Dance

by HomeIsSpelledKAZ2Y5



Series: Hands, Eyes, Hearts [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Clubbing, Crossdressing Castiel, M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomeIsSpelledKAZ2Y5/pseuds/HomeIsSpelledKAZ2Y5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixth in my drabble collection. More of a one-shot. <i>Like a scene from a movie, the lights and music line up, and in white flashes with a crescendo that lifts his <i>soul</i>, the crowd parts and Sam sees her.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Up and Dance

The heat in the small, dark room is intense, and Sam begins to sweat as he wends around writhing bodies and couples to get to the bar. Pulsing bass throbs throughout everything he touches, from the soles of his shoes to the high-tension line of his shoulders. If he could only hear himself think --

but he can't, and what's more, he doesn't want to. It's been a hell of a week. He orders shots more by miming than speech, and spends the rest of the current song pounding them back, one after another, a thin line of liquor trickling down his extended throat. He can feel eyes on him, raking up and down his body. He likes the attention as much as he doesn't.

The song changes, the lights change, all swirling down low and mysterious before slamming back in so hot and hard that Sam's hips pump once unconsciously, beneath the edge of the bar. He's so hot, sweat is pouring down the line of his back in a disgusting waterfall, but his body is translating this situation into something far more pleasurable.

He turns, puts his back to the bar despite the wet, and gazes out over the throng. With the lights dancing just as frenetic all as the people, frantic like they're running out of time, it looks like some strung-out orgy out there. Sam can hardly see individuals, just a crush of bodies and glimmering glances of faces in the lights. A frisson runs through him when the music does something ridiculously good and he grins. He has to bite his lip a little and turn back to the bar, so that his hips and...  _accoutrements_  aren't jutting out quite so obviously.

He'd been so busy he forgot how these places affected him.

He found this one accidentally, a hunt out in the sticks of Wichita that turned into interviewing business owners here. The place looks innocuous outside even by night, and Sam is only here because he got invited by the guy who owns it. Sam has never seen anyone so grateful to be rid of a smell -- but then again, poltergeists are nasty business and nobody wants to get their freak on in a stinky club.

When Sam came back this evening, he wasn't looking for anything special. He wasn't expecting the guy's club to hop like this. It's full to capacity, the music pulls at him, and everyone is so beautiful that Sam finds himself shrinking inside. He knows he's got his moments, but he's not --

Like a scene from a movie, the lights and music line up, and in white flashes with a crescendo that lifts his  _soul_ , the crowd parts and Sam sees her.

She's facing somewhere to his right, dancing like there's no one else here. Slender, pale wrists and expressive hands flourish from the sleeves of a black blazer, which nips in at the waist and frames a little slip of a black dress. Strong, lithe legs work on lean hips and end in a beat-up pair of Converse sneakers. Short, dark hair catches the lights in dull jeweled strands. What little he sees of her face translates as high cheekbones, dark lashes. Her skin is so light. When the hi-beams from the DJ booth light her up from the opposite side, she looks positively angelic.

He's making his way toward her when the song changes.

Driving bass and alien noises herald a change in the lights, deep blues and purples with an undercurrent of red. There's no hope of talking. Sam can only get close enough to shout in the vicinity of her ear, "May I have this dance?" He gets a sidelong smirk and nod for his trouble. She's tall, but she still feels tiny -- not fragile, though. Sam could cover her with his body, but he couldn't pin her down. He likes that. So many women feel breakable when he's got them in his arms.

He finds her waist with one hand, feels her muscles working as she moves. She's strong. Sure of herself. She dances into his space to the music and before Sam realizes what's happening they're grinding, gyrating, doing a dance that Sam is certain could be considered obscene -- and he loves it. He's never felt so free, so downright  _sexy_. The details of this situation are coming together and making him feel like a god, with his hands on a woman who must be half-goddess herself.

By the time the song changes again, she's in Sam's arms, her body a long, hot line up against his. She turns, and she kisses him before he can see her face. Her lips work hungrily over his. She tastes like lemon and sugar;  _must have been her drink_ , Sam thinks, happily chasing the taste with his tongue. Their hips grind together, and Sam rocks his swelling cock against her thigh. She groans, low and throaty, into his mouth.

Then she tears herself from his arms and disappears into the crowd.

For a moment, Sam is stricken. He can't see her, doesn't know where she went and isn't certain he could ever pick her out of a line-up. Her hair was artfully styled, leaving only an impression of her face. She'd only looked at him the once, so fleeting...

He's in the way but he doesn't care, he lets himself get knocked around there in the middle of the floor as he remembers. She turned, and she tilted her head -- and Sam's remembered fleeting gut cramp wasn't adrenaline or fear but  _recognition_. He hadn't even realized that he knew.

" _Cas_ ," he breathes, in a rush that gets lost in the music.

The angel could be anywhere by now, but Sam dares to hope, and starts making his encumbered way through the crowd to the corner where the bathrooms are. He hesitates for half a moment, then opens the door to the the women's. He really hopes he doesn't get screamed at or just kicked out for his trouble.

They're very nice bathrooms for a small club like this -- muted colors, a real marble countertop -- but Sam's only got eyes for the figure hunched over the far sink. "Cas," he says as the door closes. He doesn't want to scare him, but he misjudged the volume of his voice after all that noise. Castiel startles.

He looks less feminine in this light, but he's still beautiful, and Sam draws unconsciously nearer. Those kohl-limned blue eyes hold such pain, fear of recrimination and judgement, and he's even shrinking against the stall divider a little. Sam stops moving, and holds out his hands, placating. He smiles, warm and a little insecure.

"You look amazing," he says. He means it.

Castiel gives him a rue smile in return. "I wasn't sure you knew it was me."

"Not until I really thought about it," Sam admits. "But to be fair, it's really dark in there."

They share an awkward pause, smiling and looking away, down to the tile and over to the plastic ferns on the counter.

"Dean," Castiel says suddenly, loud in the stillness. He fidgets, "has made his views on this sort of thing very clear. It's not that he disapproves of people like me, he just..." He grimaces. "It was an enlightening conversation, but not pleasant."

"Well," Sam says, "you've got to know by now that Dean and I are very different." Taking a leap of faith, he steps closer.

There's none of the usual bathroom muzak being piped in here, and Sam can feel the bass from outside rumbling up through his shoes. The beat of the song is driving, the chord progressions charging him -- with what, Sam doesn't know; could be energy, could be power. He feels like this is a moment he will never see again, and the way Cas is looking at him, small for all his height and strikingly dark, tells Sam that he feels the same way.

It must be this that brings them together, Sam closing the space as quickly as he can and Castiel reaching for him, clutching him near, looping a hand around his neck and kissing him, fierce and sweet. They press together and rock to the music, enveloping one another. Sam has never kissed someone like this, so caught up in atmosphere. He almost wishes they were out on the floor --

less so, when Castiel finds his hand and breaks the kiss, drawing him into a stall.

"Sam," he says, breathless, eyes sparkling, "can I see you?"

"Is that all you wanna do?" Sam laughs despite himself. Hurriedly he adds, "because that's fine, that's fine if you just want -- to --" Castiel is dragging his zipper down, sinking down with it, eye level with Sam's interest as he dips nimble fingers in. Sam tries to stifle a moan when Castiel grabs him but hey, it's been awhile, and this is Cas in a dress and goddamn eyeliner doing the grabbi _ohhh, God_.

He's got Sam in his mouth.

"Cas," Sam hisses. Castiel draws off, looking incongruous with Sam's massive erection held almost daintily in his grasp. His lips already look used.

"Sam," he says, and Sam's cock twitches in his hand, because that is how Castiel's voice sounds saying his name when he's been sucking his cock, and now Sam has no hope of ever being anything but stupidly hard for the rest of his life.

"N-nothin'," he manages, and it ends in a moan when Castiel just smirks at him and dives back down.

His fucking tongue, Sam doesn't even know, on every bob of his head Cas does something with his tongue that is blowing Sam's mind every single time. He grabs at the stall, he doesn't want to be rude, because he can't control the pulsing of his hips in further and further toward the back of Castiel's throat, and Sam doesn't want to do what his body is screaming for: that is, to grab Castiel's head and fuck his face, hard. Those lips, that tongue, even the way Cas is moving his neck is so sublime, though, it's all driving Sam up the wall behind him not to be able to touch.

Cas draws off again, this time with a dirty little smack of his lips that has Sam biting his own. "I never said you couldn't touch me," the angel says, "though I do appreciate your tact."

"Don't want to hurt you," Sam says. It comes out a mumble because now he's got his fingers in Castiel's styled hair, messing it up just like Cas is messing up his entire state of being just by existing, let alone whatever he's doing to Sam's cock right now,  _Jesus_. Tracing, teasing. Tantalizing little licks.

"You won't," Castiel replies, in a hot whisper right over tender flesh. Sam shivers, an open-mouthed moan riding up his throat when Cas takes him in all the way to the base. Fuck, the convulsions of him around Sam, measured and precise, the way he's grabbing at Sam's thigh, urging him to fuck in deeper... Sam never gets to let go when he does this. He's not trying to brag, but nine and a half inches could hurt somebody.

Castiel is an angel of the Lord, and he's telling Sam he can take it.

Sam gives it to him in deep, sure strokes that feel incredible, and by the way Cas is whimpering around him, it's a feeling that goes both ways. He can see Castiel bracing on one hand, reaching with the other, arm working when he gets himself in hand. That's hot. Sam moans the words that tell Castiel just how hot it is, as his hips work faster, harder, filling the angel up until there isn't even space for him to moan back.

With a sudden, shocked and garbled noise, Castiel seizes up, and Sam would be alarmed if he wasn't hearing the telltale sound of heavy liquid hitting the tile. Cas is fucking his own face on Sam's cock at this point, meeting him thrust for thrust, wringing out his own orgasm and -- oh, it's just too much.

"Cas, I'm gonna --"

A muffled  _mm-hmm_ , urging and eager.

With a high whine, choppy and punctuated by his hips, Sam punches in deep and comes down Castiel's throat. It's a long one, igniting his blood and his bones, blinding him while he shakes it out.

Castiel suckles him through it, swallows every last drop, and then collapses back with a hoarse little laugh. His own mess is displayed between his slack legs.

Trembling, Sam sits heavily back on the toilet seat. "W-whoa," he says and laughs at himself, eying the angel. "You, uh. You're good."

Castiel hums. "One can learn much from the Internet."

"The Internet?" Sam's eyebrows rocket upward. "Wait -- on  _my_  laptop?"

Oh, that smirk of his is just too sexy. "Dean says that's what you get for making your password something predictable."

"Yeah, well, I'm not changing it again," Sam says. "I'll just have to teach you how to run a virus scanner."

Chuckling, Castiel hauls himself up on his knees, and crawls right through the nastiness on the floor to give Sam a tender kiss. "I did that, too." He nuzzles into Sam's cheek, and sighs. "I have learned much."

Sam has learned a thing or two, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://www.wattpad.com/127752659-hands-eyes-hearts-a-collection-of-supernatural).
> 
> Please leave kudos if you ♥ it.


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